


Of Gratitude

by sirenseven



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Teen Titans (Animated Series)
Genre: Anal Sex, Community: dckinkmeme, Episode: s01e12-13 Apprentice Parts 1-2, Humiliation, M/M, Rough Sex, Size Difference, Violent Sex, no editing; we die like mne
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:47:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24083074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sirenseven/pseuds/sirenseven
Summary: “You're going to do everything I say, Robin. Exactly when I say it. Without complaining. And when you're done, you're going tothankme, for being generous enough to afford you thisopportunitydespite all your disobedience."(i.e., the obligatory apprentice fic)
Relationships: Dick Grayson/Slade Wilson
Comments: 24
Kudos: 208





	Of Gratitude

**Author's Note:**

> originally written for the [dckinkmeme](https://dckinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/766.html?thread=510#cmt510)
> 
> you all know what this is

“Don't.” Robin slumped, fight vanishing in the face of the threat. “I'll do whatever you say.”

“Good boy. And, from now on, I'd like you to call me Master.”

Robin grit his teeth, but didn't argue. The giant screens tracking his friends' vitals gave the room a shifting light that made it impossible to forget the stakes. Even without them, Slade had proven he could beat Robin easily.

“Do you understand me, Robin?”

“Yes,” Robin grit out, biting back a hundred sharp remarks. His fists clenched so tightly that the gloves were the only thing stopping him from drawing blood. _Slade's_ gloves. Robin missed his own colors.

He was so focused on crushing his instinct to rebel that the backhand caught him off guard, sending him stumbling backwards. Robin tensed, instinct quickly finding his footing and preparing him to strike back—and forced himself to lower his fists instead.

“I'm not sure you did,” Slade said, still in that perfectly level purr. For the ease of his stance, he might never have moved at all.

The mask betrayed no emotion, but Robin could feel his expectance. He realized immediately what Slade wanted.

It was okay. He could do this. Just say the word. Robin could suffer a little humiliation, if that was what it took to save his friends, until he figured a way out of this. It was just another stupid power play for Slade.

“Yes, _Master_ ,” he corrected, throwing every bit of loathing he had behind the word.

Slade's hum was pleased, despite Robin's tone.

“Good boy.”

Robin stopped himself from snapping that he wasn't a dog, and he didn't care if Slade approved of him.

Except he did care. He had to care. Everything depended on Slade approving.

“Now, come here.”

Robin silently stepped forward, stopping a few feet away.

“Closer,” Slade ordered, betraying the faintest irritation as his hand lifted to beckon.

Robin inched toward him reluctantly, until he was mere elbow distance away and the hand finally dropped. Close enough he had to crane his head to glare at Slade. Close enough that there would be a lot of power behind it if Slade hit him again.

“Let try this again,” Slade said. “On your knees.”

“ _What_!?”

Slade's body tensed. Images of floating nanobots danced behind him.

“...Master,” Robin added belatedly, like that might make up for it.

He didn't pull out the controller or attack, at least. “Is the concept somehow unclear to you?”

Robin flushed, too furious to be embarrassed, and shook his head. (If he didn't say anything, he didn't have to call Slade anything except the insults in his own head—the most rebellion he could get.)

Just a little humiliation. A stupid power play. For his friends. He could do it; he just had to keep reminding himself of that.

He started to slide back for a little more room, but Slade caught his shoulder in one firm hand.

“Here, Robin.”

 _Here_? They were so close that if they both leaned in, they'd be touching. Robin balked at the mental image. Slade's grip didn't falter, though, and his patience was already tested.

Slowly, one leg at a time, Robin lowered himself down. The only positive was when his shoulder slipped out of Slade's reach. He sat ramrod straight, refusing to sit back on his heels and make himself any shorter than he was already forced to be. Too late, he realized exactly where that put his face, and was glad he couldn't turn any redder. 

He scowled up at Slade. The man ruffled his hair. Robin couldn't decide if he preferred that to _good boy_ or not.

“You're going to do everything I say, Robin. Exactly when I say it. Without complaining.” Robin bit his tongue so hard he could taste blood. “And when you're done, you're going to _thank_ me, for being generous enough to afford you this _opportunity_ despite all your disobedience. Do you understand, apprentice?”

“Yes, Master,” he seethed, refusing to lower his glare from Slade's single eye.

“And?”

And? He wanted Robin to thank him _now_? He'd said— _after_. He couldn't possibly expect Robin to feign gratitude for hitting him and ordering him around and forcing him to his knees, like Robin wasn't busy dreaming up ways to take him down.

An armored boot slammed up beneath his ribs, knocking the air from his lungs. Robin gasped for air, doubling over and only managing to stay on his knees when his head pressed against something hard.

Stupid power play. Humiliation. Friends. Do it.

“Thank you, Master,” he wheezed. His furious tone was lost to the lack of breath.

When the black spots retreated from his vision, Robin abruptly realized the thing he'd bumped into was Slade's thigh. With a start, he tried to jerk back—and Slade's hand caught the nape of his neck.

He shouldn't be this strong. It shouldn't be _possible_ to be this strong. But no matter how hard Robin pulled away, Slade seemed to have no trouble keeping his face pressed against the man's body, guiding his head to the center, right over—right over his—

Robin made a strangled noise.

It was armored, obviously, but it was still _right there_ , and he fought more at the realization, bringing his hands up to try to pry Slade's off.

“Robin, I hadn't realized you were so _eager_ ,” Slade said, like he didn't notice the frantic struggle below. “Getting so close to me already.”

The grip against his nape eased, and Robin threw himself away without finesse, scrambling back on his butt.

“What!? No! I wasn't—!”

“'No'?” Slade repeated, taking a threatening step forward.

Robin jerked back, panting hard, too furious to speak and too shocked to move. Cold fear trickled down his spine. He couldn't possibly, actually, mean—that. It was just a goad, right?

But while he'd known Slade to taunt, he'd never actually known the man to joke.

“You're sick,” he finally managed, more breathless than he'd like.

“'You're sick', what?” Slade prompted.

Robin stared at him. Was he...was he serious?

“You disgust me, _Master_ ,” he snarled.

“There we are.”

Robin pulled his legs under him as Slade loomed closer, slowly circling like a predator. The screens around gave Robin enough caution to guess standing would be a bad idea, but he absolutely was not going to kneel either, now that he had a horrible idea what Slade wanted. Crouching let him at least pretend he was at the ready.

“I would hate for you to lose that fighting spirit entirely, Robin. But I do expect obedience.”

His hands flexed and fisted at his sides, desperate to grab a weapon, but barely restraining himself. He couldn't see a single sliver of Slade's face, but he still had the strong sensation of wanting to wipe a smug look off of it.

Slade paused a few feet away. Robin tensed further, wary of the trap.

“Take off your clothes.”

“No!”

It was out before he could second guess, leaping to his feet—

And freezing when the controller appeared in Slade's hand, finger posed over the button. Robin hesitated, bent halfway into a lunge, locked in place by the simple gesture and that cold gaze. Slowly, he forced himself to relax the pose.

Friends. Power play. Humiliation—But _was_ it just humiliation Slade was after?

Robin expected his hesitation to draw further punishment, but Slade sounded, if anything, amused when he spoke again:

“Come now, Robin. It's not like I didn't see you put them on.”

Robin jerked, mouth dropping open.

Yes, Slade had been there to watch when Robin took on his colors, half in shadow as he forced the boy into a pool of light. Robin thought it was just a power thing, ensuring he would comply. Sure, he'd only gotten down to his undershirt, but he hadn't thought Slade was— _looking_. Not like _that_.

“I grow impatient, Robin.”

Robin faltered, hands twitching to do who knew what, and then numbly shook his head.

“No?” Slade raised the controller until it was perfectly highlighted in the light of the screens. “Do I need to start hurting your friends again?”

“No!” Deep breaths. The last thing he needed right now was to upset Slade. “No...Master.”

“Then do what I say,” Slade hissed.

For his friends. His friends, his friends, his friends.

He couldn't, though. He couldn't do it. Robin would do anything to save his friends, but he _couldn't_.

Slade growled, the controller vanishing as quickly as it had appeared, and then he'd closed the gap just like that. Robin barely stopped himself from lashing out as a hand yanked his hair, enormous body looming behind and curving over him. Slade's spoke right beside his ear, voice raising.

“Have I been unclear somehow?” Robin grunted as his legs were knocked out, knees cracking against the ground. Slade followed him down, not loosing an inch of that threatening warmth against his back. A heavy shin pressed over his calves, pinning them. “Is a demonstration in order? Are you going to _comply_ , or do _they_ need to be punished too?”

“No!”

“ _No_!?” Slade shook him by the hair, hard enough to make his teeth rattle.

“No, Master!”

His face slammed into the floor, arms barely preventing a concussion, hair tugged and pulled into position until he had no choice but to arch his back, ass up. The hand in his hair yanked to the side, forcing his cheek against the floor, and his face pointed to the screens. Starfire, the one directly in front of him said.

Slade laid fully over him, every inch of Robin's body covered by the far larger man. There was too much armor to feel any anatomy, but the implication was impossible to ignore, accelerating Robin's heart.

“You're going to be good, then?” Slade snapped, right into his ear. “You're going to obey?”

“Yes,” Robin gasped, though he wanted to scream and fight and get _out of here_. He couldn't to look anywhere but the drifting mix of blood cells and nanobots. “Yes. I'll be—I'll comply. Master.”

The next word was even harder to say than the last:

“Please,” he whispered against the floor, sure Slade would hear it anyway. “Please don't hurt them.”

For a horrible moment, Slade remained pressed against him.

Then he leaned back, fingers slowly untangling from Robin's hair. The leg stayed across his calves, hips still pressed together. Robin didn't dare move his upper body either, even as it was freed.

Starfire's vitals looked perfectly healthy.

“I'm going to give you one more chance to prove it,” said Slade, voice even once more, like he'd never even raised it. Robin trembled against the ground. “I suggest you don't waste it. I don't want to hear _no_ again.”

Robin nodded shakily, cement scraping against his cheek.

“What do we say, Robin?”

It was so much like a chiding parent that Robin could have mocked it in any other situation.

“Thank you, Master,” he said, and if it came out as a whisper he told himself it was from defiance rather than fear.

“Good. Strip.”

Robin made to straighten, before feather-light fingertips touched his back.

“Like this will do.”

Swallowing, he went for his gloves. It was awkward, using what little space was left beneath him, but the greater obstacle was his shaking.

In rage, he reminded himself. He was shaking in rage. Because he hated Slade. Not because Slade was winning.

“What happened to becoming like a father to me?” Robin asked, as he worked on the shoulder plates of the armor.

Slade hummed. “Perhaps I changed my mind. Or perhaps your definitions are just too limited.”

He took gloves and armor plates from Robin as they came off, tossing them aside. When Robin awkwardly worked the top of the uniform up to his shoulders, Slade lifted him just a few inches off the ground so he could tug it over his head.

That put him down to his undershirt, the least Slade had ever seen him in. Robin tried not to react when weight found the side of his hips, a gloved finger stroking the sliver of skin revealed between pants and top.

Robin took a deep breath, refused to let himself think about it, and stripped the final layer off as well.

“You look good,” Slade purred, as he pulled it up, “wriggling like this.”

Robin jerked.

“Oh? Do you like hearing that?”

No. No, like hell he did! But Slade said he didn't want to hear no, and Robin didn't know what would happen if he did. His kept his mouth shut.

Slade took that as confirmation—or, maybe, just didn't care.

“I've imagined this,” he said. “You're even smaller without the armor.”

Robin twisted his forehead onto the floor, happy for the momentary distraction the scrape gave him. He didn't want to see anything. He didn't want to hear anything either, but he doubted Slade would let him cover his ears.

The man was still on top of his legs. Maybe this was it. Maybe he wouldn't have to...

“Belt, Robin.”

No, of course he would.

Robin reached down, fingers fumbling against the unfamiliar clasp. This wasn't happening. Any second now, he was going to come up with a brilliant plan to get out; or Slade would laugh and step back, done messing with him; or, or the Titans would arrive in a blaze of glory—

But if the Titans arrived, Slade would kill them.

The belt came loose.

Slade slid it off him, the soft shushing sound horrible even over the background noise of the giant gears. Robin almost flinched when it clacked against the ground as he tossed it away. Then hands were gripping his wrists, guiding them in over the fastening of his pants. Slade couldn't puppet his hands for the motion, but the order was unmistakable. He didn't let himself think about it; just did as expected.

As soon as Robin lowered his hands, Slade seized the sides of his pants and yanked down, and just like that Robin was bare down to the knees.

His heart pounded. Power play. Humiliation. It was just a taunt. Slade was going to reveal it was just a taunt any moment now. He was—

Robin yelped when a suddenly bare hand touched his ass, jerking away. Slade caught him by the neck, holding him in submission as he thrashed.

“Have you never done this before, Robin? First time nerves?”

Robin yelled into the ground, too furious for words, trying and failing twist around so he could hit the man. “Get off me!”

Slade yanked his head up and slammed it back down, pain ricocheting through Robin's skull.

“I asked you a question, apprentice,” his voice purred, tone at odds with the fight and horrific words. “No one has ever seen you like this before? No one has bounced you on their cock? No one has seen how small and fragile you really are, how prettily you squirm?”

Robin growled into the ground. Slade squeezed the back of his neck. Visions of nanobots swum in his blurry vision.

“Well?”

“No,” Robin spat. He didn't know which answer would be more humiliating to give, but he was too dizzy to lie. “No, Master.”

Slade leaned over him, armor and cloth against Robin's bare back, to reach his ear. “Good.”

He straightened, though his hand continued pressing Robin's neck towards the ground.

“I'd tell you to prepare yourself for me, but you wouldn't even know where to start,” Slade said, as musing as it was mocking.

Something slid against the back of Robin's thigh—No, not _something_ ; Slade.

Robin jerked and thrashed again, frantic and failing to get away. His heart pounded from his feet to his throat; even his swimming, surely concussed mind cleared enough with adrenaline for horrible awareness of what was about to happen.

The hand left his neck, moving that pressure right against his ass, right over his rim. Robin scrambled with the freedom, trying to tug himself away against the floor, to twist and claw at Slade, to shake the man off his legs.

“Stop fighting, Robin,” Slade said, anger leaking into his voice, fending the boy off like it was nothing. “You'll only hurt yourself. You can't stop this. You can't stop _me_.”

“No!”

“ _No_!?” Slade thundered back, but Robin had already reached his limit of fear and there was no more he could hold.

He battled Robin back to the ground, too many hands seeming to hold him everywhere. One yanked his hair, forcing his face to the side again, and then a forearm barred against Robin's shoulder blades.

Robin yelled, fought, tried to throw it off, until finally his eyes focused enough to notice the screen had gone red. The nanobots were active. His breath caught in a gasp, eyes going wide. His friends—

Slade thrust into him, pain blazing as he fucked himself dry into Robin's ass.

Robin screamed.

The sound became only more pathetic as he realized the man hadn't managed to seat himself entirely, pressing forward without mercy as he attempted to sheath what seemed like an impossible size. Robin gasped and whimper, barely able to think. The screens remained red.

“Please,” he managed, barely a gasp.

With a final push, Slade's pelvis landed flush against him. Robin clenched and squirmed against the overwhelming girth. He was barely conscious of the hands on his hip and waist.

“Please?” Slade echoed cruelly. With a horrible drag, he pulled halfway out, and then thrust back in.

Tears sprung to Robin's eyes, barely held back. His friends; his friends; his friends. He had to...

“Please. Master.” His hand groped out towards the screens, the most explanation he could give.

Slade stilled, hands squeezing down tight enough to bruise before relaxing.

“Move,” he instructed.

Robin wriggled, too slow with pain to understand. “Wha...?”

“Fuck yourself,” Slade said slowly, “on my cock.”

Robin panted. Friends. Power play. Take it. For them; take it, take it, take it.

Inching himself away from Slade was almost a relief, despite the awful friction. He had no idea how far to move, no idea how big Slade was, how deeply he'd penetrated into Robin's body. He stopped when he simply couldn't manage any more. It still felt like Slade was splitting him open; like Slade was so deep inside he'd never get out.

Moving back was worse. Every inch seemed harder than the last. It couldn't possibly fit. It couldn't possibly have _already_ fit. Where did it _go_?

He almost sobbed when he finally felt Slade's hips, barely holding it back. Even if it was the only thing he could deny Slade, he wouldn't give the man his tears.

“Good, Robin.”

The screens went green again. Vitals normal. Robin sagged in relief.

“What do we say, apprentice?”

He swallowed hard. He couldn't let it happen again; couldn't think about how much his friends had already suffered on his behalf. “Thank you, Master.”

“You're welcome, Robin. Again.”

It was only marginally easier the second time, prying himself away in mingled relief and pain, and then pushing back in a horrible denial of his every instinct. His face scraped against the floor. He felt wrung out like a wet rag, too exhausted to lift it.

“And we say?” Slade prompted, when he was fully seated once more.

“Thank you, Master,” Robin mumbled.

He didn't need the instruction again, sliding himself back and forth without further orders. Fucking himself on his M—on _Slade's_ cock.

The near slip in his thoughts gave Robin a jolt of panic he didn't think he had left, but he didn't allow it to stop him from slurring, “Thank you, Master.”

Slowly, the motion eased from an impossible stretch, until Slade was helping him along in a quicker rhythm, bouncing Robin on his cock. He didn't complain when Robin's thank yous slurred more and more, until they became wordless moans.

Slade leaned forward, finally taking over control as he planting a hand beside Robin's head.

“You see how much easier this is,” he said, speeding up, “when you _obey_?”

He pounded in harder, every thrust drawing a cry from Robin's slumped body.

“Don't worry. You'll get better at this too. Soon you'll beg for my cock.”

(“ _Ah—ah—ah—_ ” said Robin, though he want to shout that he wouldn't.)

“Already grasping your first lesson of gratitude. Good,” Slade grunted, snapping his hips at impossible speed. Finally, _finally_ there was some hint of effort in his voice. “So...small...”

He pounded in one final time, fingers gripping marks into Robin's hip. An unfamiliar and horrible sensation of wetness bloomed inside Robin, and he hated to classify the sound he made as a whine.

Slade was panting, leaned over him. It took him only a moment to catch his breath. “And we say...”

Robin clenched his jaw, squeezed back tears. He hated this. He hated Slade.

He _was_ going to make the man pay.

“Thank you, Master.”

Slade withdrew, leaving something sticky dripping down Robin's thighs. Robin couldn't guess if it was come or blood or a combination. Worse was the realization that the sudden loss made him feel empty. Slade patted him on the ass.

“Good boy.”

“I'm going,” Robin panted, determined to make the promise, “going...to make you wish...you hadn't done that.”

“What was it you said?” Slade hummed. “Mm...I only wish I had done it _sooner_.”

Robin was still naked when the Titans broke the door down.

**Author's Note:**

> this has been done a hundred times, but it turns out smut is great mindless warm up, so here y'all go


End file.
